


another slice, another plate

by CHER_UBIC



Series: mickey milkovich and the adventure that is recovery [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, References to Depression, oof oof oof
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-08 01:39:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16419983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CHER_UBIC/pseuds/CHER_UBIC
Summary: One day, Mickey can't get out of bed.set before the events of "a slice of the pie called life".





	another slice, another plate

It started out like a normal day would. 

 

Mickey awoke in a cold sweat, shivering with the chill of it accompanied by Chicago's cold seeping in through the cracks of his worn-down house. 

 

There was a warm body next to him, inhaling and exhaling steadily, still asleep. He wanted to reach out and touch, maybe say something, but the blanket over his body felt like it was shackling him to the bed, and he couldn't move. He felt like a Greek story he'd read in elementary, something about a Titan holding up the sky. He felt like the weight of the sky was on top of him.

 

He couldn't help but think about what lay ahead for him if he got out of bed, days trudging along until Terry finally got out of prison and returned to the Milkovich residence. The idea made him curl up just a little more, using all of his energy to roll over and face the wall. He remembered the feeling of hard metal smacking against his skull, warm blood dripping down his face, his arms, his torso, everywhere. He remembers Mandy's cries, Iggy's grunts of pain, Tony's choked-off gasps. He remembers the pain, fear, anger, humiliation, guilt. With every memory it feels like another pound is added to the sky already weighing his body down. He aches for a cigarette but can't move, doesn't for fear of bringing new memories to the surface, for having to be Mickey Milkovich, thug asshole pimp for the day. He can't do it.

 

The bed creaks as the body next to him begins to move, stirring in its sleep, yawning as presumably it opens its eyes. "Mornin'," it says gruffly, shifting closer to Mickey. "Mick?" He can't breathe. "Mick, are you okay? Mick?" A cold hand touches his bare shoulder, shakes him gently. He feels like the world is spinning rapidly. He can't speak, can't blink. "Fuck, c'mon, Mickey," the voice becomes worried, uncertain hand coming away from his shoulder. "I'll be back," the voice promises, but he's heard it all before.

 

He lays there for what must be hours before someone comes in.

 

"Assface?" Mandy's voice carries through his room, and he feels another pound of weight on him. "Hey, you fuckin' deaf or somethin'?" He smells cigarettes, sees the smoke. "Mick, quit fuckin' around, and get your ass up!" She's demanding something impossible of him, and he can't find it in him to tell her that. She stomps out of the room, and the body from his bed returns. 

 

"It's okay, Mick," a hand, now warm, runs through his hair, his body warming from the gentle touch. The body leans down, and a glimmer of red hair comes into view of his peripherals as a kiss is pressed to his forehead. "You'll be okay."

 

A part of him feels like it's already dead, the other currently dying when he can't bring himself to say anything in response.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
